


when he’s behind me in the mirror

by prince_doomed



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Alexis | Quackity Deserves Better, Alexis | Quackity Needs a Hug, Alexis | Quackity-centric, Angst, Child Abandonment, DreamSMP - Freeform, Drug Use, Emotional Manipulation, Ghost JSchlatt, Ghostbur, Haunting, Hurt No Comfort, Jschlatt is Toby Smith | Tubbo's Parent, Jschlatt is an asshole, Jschlatt’s A+ Parenting, M/M, Nightmares, Past Character Death, Physical Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sad Alexis | Quackity, Scars, Uncle Alexis | Quackity, Unreliable Narrator, but the drugs are blaze powder, have some blue calm yourself, no beta until I remember my sister literally read this, quackity is struggling, speedran this fic like dream, swearing but what did u expect its quackity and schlatt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-02
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-14 14:13:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29793114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prince_doomed/pseuds/prince_doomed
Summary: Quackity had thought he could take down Technoblade, end it all once and for all with the butcher army. But as he jolted upright in bed with a new scar through his mouth and his heart pounding in his chest, the only thing he thought was that he was a complete idiot. That was of course, until he saw the man in the mirror.In which Quackity finds himself tethered to the ghost of Jschlatt, who intends to guide him towards the control and power he seeks and sever their bond once and for all. But as Quackity faces the past in the form of an all too annoying poltergeist, he starts to question if that’s really what he’s after.
Relationships: Alexis | Quackity & Floris | Fundy, Alexis | Quackity & Jschlatt, Alexis | Quackity & Phil Watson, Alexis | Quackity & Ranboo, Alexis | Quackity & Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF), Alexis | Quackity/Karl Jacobs/Sapnap, Alexis| Quackity & Toby Smith | Tubbo
Comments: 2
Kudos: 30





	when he’s behind me in the mirror

**Author's Note:**

> This started out as a character study because I was fascinated by Quackity’s character arc, and suddenly here we are. I hope you all enjoy it though!
> 
> !! some content warnings for you this chapter, please proceed safely: manipulation and emotional abuse, brief physical abuse (it’s a slap), scars, ptsd, and bad parenting !!

Quackity snapped awake in the dark of his room to sweat soaked sheets and a sporadic heartbeat in his chest, which was, all things considered, an improvement from when he'd closed his eyes. 

_"I have a pickaxe, and I'll put it through your teeth Quackity!"_

Technoblade's cry still rang loud in his ears, along with a sharp stinging sensation coming from his lip. Quackity pried his shaking fingers off of where they gripped the bed sheets, and slowly moved his hand towards his mouth, toward the stinging, stretching, _wrong_ feeling. Towards where a part of his lip and two of his teeth were supposed to be. 

His fingers made contact with scarred flesh, a brief nothing, and then the soft feel of his top gum, the one below it, and his bottom lip, where the scar swung through. 

Quackity cried. 

He didn't really mean to, hardly even realized it happened at first, just tasted salty tears on his tongue and felt irritation in his eyes. They were just two stupid incisors, why did it matter so much anyway? 

Because he'd lost, because he'd failed, because it meant that he couldn't win his battles with strength or wits. 

Because he was weak, just like Schlatt always said. 

Quackity cursed, letting his hand fall from his lip and shoving the blankets aside. He desperately wiped his eyes as he swung out of bed and onto his traitorously shaking feet. No. No, fuck that. He was strong, Manburg strong, and he was going to prove it. No more running from Dream or Technoblade, no more being scared of the big bad men with all the power. 

He was going to fucking kill them. 

But as he met his own gaze in the mirror, intent on glaring his rage and confidence into reality, a short and sharp noise echoed out behind him. 

"Glatt." 

"What the fuck-?" Quackity muttered, denying the way he flinched in a jolt and glaring around the dark of his home. 

"Glatt." 

No. No it was...coming from the mirror. Quackity turned his head, slowly, and trained his glare right back at the mirror. "I don't know what kind of fucking joke you think this is, but cut it out right now." 

"I can't control it." 

Quackity's blood froze. 

No. 

He was dead. 

He was dead, he was dead, he couldn't be here, be back, no, no, this was some stupid nightmare, ptsd or whatever the fuck. Because Jschlatt was fucking dead. 

"Hey Flatty Patty, you just gonna keep standing there or what? Help me out here pal." 

Quackity pulled himself, even as he desperately tried to fall away, back into his own mind, and looked at the mirror again. All the rage was gone from his eyes, and a new figure was leaning over his shoulder in the mirror. 

"You're not real." Quackity said, sounding far less confident that he would have hoped for, and not looking over his shoulder. "You're dead." 

"Well yeah I'm dead princess, but that doesn't change the fact that I'm right fucking here, now you gonna help me out of this goddamn mirror or what?" 

"Am I- what?" Quackity held onto his confusion like a dumb flamingo pool floaty thrown to him in a hurricane. 

"Or for fuck's- just give me your hand." Schlatt demanded, holding out his hand towards the mirror. 

The hand that Quackity had shook to make him president. 

Quackity pinched his eyes shut, the swirling storm of nausea too close to the surface to bear. And this wasn't even the half of it, the pounding headache's worth of locked away memories trying to bash down their walls were nearly free. 

But. 

Schlatt knew how to play the game. Better than Quackity ever had. He knew how to win with connections when you couldn't outlive your enemy in a fight, knew how to win by sweeping the leg of the foe you couldn't outsmart. He knew how to put every single person around him into a swift checkmate with nothing but the rules of business and law. 

Quackity needed him. 

He hated him, of course, was petrified with fear every time the man spoke and yet, he knew he needed him. They didn’t call it Schlatt's presidency for nothing, didn't write him out of every decision for nothing. Schlatt was the mastermind. 

And besides, Quackity knew he wasn't the shark. He wasn't the big guy with all the sharp teeth that made everyone scatter when he even looked their way. But he clung to those people, he clung to them and picked up the scraps and used the paths presented to him. 

He'd never won as a leader before, so why try to be the leader now?

Even with the flipping of his gut, Quackity made up his mind and grabbed Schlatt's hand, who used it to haul himself, slowly, painstakingly through the mirror, until he stood beside Quackity once again. 

It was about at that point when Quackity really began to process that his Ex-President Jschlatt was standing right beside him. His hair was as slicked to perfection as always, and he held the same practiced expression in his face, but he wore a blue sweater with a red heart on the chest the likes of which Schlatt probably would have burned in life, and his eyes had become that of the goat his curling horns and low ears reflected. 

Quackity took a shaking breath as his eyes were drawn to the large, bubbling burn scar that spiderwebbed out across the left side of Schlatt's face, centered at his eye, and the way it matched the one at the bottom right of Quackity's cheek. Ringing and a phantom bang sounded in his ears, and Quackity swallowed hard, sweating as the memories of the first time his heart stopped pushed their way to the surface.

"So," he forced himself to speak, swallowing his nerves, "what do you want?" 

Schlatt chuckled, and shook his head. "Oh no no no, Quackity, I'm dead, it's not about what I want." The poltergeist turned to face him, a grin spreading fast across his face. "It's about what _you_ want." 

"I want Manburg to be strong, to never have to bow to self proclaimed gods." Quackity said, voice full of thick conviction. 

"Manburg?" Schlatt noted offhand. "They still let you call it that?" 

Quackity laughed. "I don't think they want to, but that pushover president can't stop me from shit." 

"Doesn't sound like Wilbur to be a pushover," Schlatt frowned, his nose wrinkling in confusion. "How much did I fucking miss? Glatt." 

Quackity laughed, and shook his head. "Oh you have no idea Schlatt, you have no idea." 

Schlatt's eyes narrowed, and Quackity froze, realizing he'd want to choose his next words carefully. For Schlatt to learn that his disowned son was president and he'd nearly cut off his horns when they'd started growing in...it probably wasn't the best opener. 

"Wilbur Soot is dead." 

"Glatt-" Schlatt jerked forward, his eyes alight with a mix of shock and malicious glee. "How?" 

"He blew up the fucking country. Blew up our great nation because he'd gone fucking mad," Quackity hissed, gritting his teeth. He still remembered staring down Wilbur in the button room, arms extended with empathy to a man who'd lost all reality, who's eyes only burned with the fire of destruction, because he'd been corrupted by his own brilliant mind. 

"And they killed him for it?" Schlatt tried to fill in. 

"No," Quackity glowered, "he killed himself." 

The coward's way out. Dying to escape all consequence or guilt or even the acknowledgement of what you've done. Dying and having your soul split so that the only thing that comes back to the mortal plane is a shell of a ghost who's not even you, but has to bear the burden anyway. 

Quackity snarled in frustration, and threw a punch at his wall. Behind him, Schlatt just raised an unimpressed eyebrow. 

Quackity took a deep breath, and forcefully adjusted his beanie. "And then fucking Technoblade spawns two withers to finish the job." His eyes darkened at the way his voice unwillingly shook saying Technoblade's name. 

"Sounds like the mighty revolutionaries weren't so honorable after all. Glatt." Schlatt chuckled, and then put on a mockingly empathetic gaze. "Oh but I'm sorry, you were working for them now weren't you? What, they didn't tell you about their little TNT plan when you signed up?" 

"Shut up," Quackity snapped, tearing his gaze away from the depths of Schlatt's soul. "You wanna know what happened or not?" 

"Fine, fine," Schlatt held up his hands in mock surrender, but the hostility still shone in his eyes. 

"So we had to rebuild Manburg. Lot of people left and...Tommy got exiled because he crossed Dream or some shit. Dream controls this country like we’re his fucking favorite little music box and he just keeps winding us up to spin around and around again." 

Schlatt frowned and leaned toward Quackity, who kept his gaze firmly away from the goatman's eyes. 

"There's something you're not telling me," Schlatt spoke diplomatically, a familiar tone that made Quackity's blood run cold. "Who's the pushover president?" 

"It’s-" Quackity swallowed hard, but firmly held his ground. He wasn't going to be scared of a ghost. He wasn't scared of Schlatt, not anymore. "It's Tubbo." 

_"WHAT?!"_ Schlatt snapped with a snarl, and slapped Quackity across the face. His cheek stung red, and blood dripped into his mouth from his still raw scar. 

"Tell me that again," he hissed. "Tell me again that that _traitor_ , that _COWARD_ , is the president of _MY_ country." 

Quackity forced down the tears that stung in the corner of his eyes. "Manburg's president, its figurehead ruler, is your son Tubbo." 

"Don't call him that," Schlatt growled dangerously. "Dont ever call that fucking _pussy_ my son again."

"I-" for a moment, Quackity was much younger, staring down Schlatt with a spark of resistance in his eyes and pointing desperately at a little boy quietly hugging a bee plushie and trying not to sniffle too loud. But he'd lost that fight. And he'd lose it again. 

Quackity shrunk. 

"Right. Sorry." 

Schlatt huffed in annoyance, and Quackity cursed quietly for apologizing on instinct. It was a weak move. 

"So, what is it you want again? To reinstate Manburg, to make sure those around it know who's in charge?" 

Quackity tried not to shake at the way Schlatt flicked so quickly back to diplomacy. "Mostly, I just wanna kill Dream and Technoblade, but the two go hand in hand." 

Schlatt nodded, putting his hands behind his back. "Weasel your way through the system and make sure you're the one with control. It's a start." 

Quackity didn't bother mentioning he wasn't sure he wanted the control, the bright red target painted on his forehead to be exploited and killed on a whim. Because he needed it, no matter what he wanted, and nothing would work without the right man in charge. Tubbo and Schlatt had proved that much. Like father like son, he supposed. 

He figured it best not to say that out loud either.

"I need to talk to the president," Quackity muttered, slowly pushing away from his mirror. "I just...died." 

"Guess that's why I'm here now," Schlatt said casually, and Quackity's eyes flicked over to him in surprise as he walked. "Glatt. I've been attached to you since I died, stupid ghost logic, but never back in the mortal plane or whatever before. Glatt. You dying must've fixed that." 

The words were lost on Quackity's ears as he caught the way Schlatt was walking. He was limping ever so slightly, favoring his left leg. 

_"You're too much of a pussy to even shoot me, it'd kill me in one hit."_

__

The drawback of a bow, string tight to his fingers, arrow giving him splinters as it cracked under his anger. 

__

"Find yourself another Vice President. Fuck you, I'm out." 

__

A deep breath out, in time with the sound of arrow slicing air and piercing bone. 

__

"I have to do everything myself." 

__

Schlatt's last retort, as he lay on the ground, bleeding out from his thigh. 

__

_Quackity didn't look back._

Now, seeing the scar from when he'd chosen his side, Quackity looked. He looked, and didn't look away, staring down at Schlatt's limp and wondering why the Ex-President was helping him now, when Quackity had been among those who made him that way. 

None of those words came out. Instead, his mouth moved on its own, forming a loose conversation of nothings. "Why don't you just fly?" 

"I'm not a fucking wimp." Schlatt declared, and Quackity tried not to roll his eyes. 

When they got to the door, Quackity's hand hesitated on the handle. He had to face the butchers, face his failure. And he was being haunted. At least that part he could do something about. "Can they see you?" 

"No. Well, actually Lover Boy’s splinter might be able to see me but-" Schlatt shrugged, frowning. "Just don't talk to yourself like a nutcase and I don't think he'll mention it. Glatt." 

Quackity sighed and nodded, running his fingers through the loose locks of hair that poked out from beneath his beanie. Nowhere to go but forward. He took a deep breath and turned the handle, stepping into the morning light. 

"Quackity!" Tubbo cried out practically as soon as the door closed behind him, jumping up from the grass nearby and rushing over. Schlatt bristled at Quackity's side. "Thank goodness you're alright." 

"Alright?" Quackity laughed in exasperation. "You think I'm fucking _alright_ Tubbo? Look at me, look at this-" he pulled at the scar, revealing the empty spaces in his gums even as his nerves fought back in pain "-look at this and tell me I'm alright." 

"Oh," Tubbo's voice trailed off, and Quackity saw his hand twitch toward his collarbone, where his own burn scars lay. "You're right, I'm sorry." 

Quackity shook his head, and tried to calm his heart. "What happened to Technoblade?" 

"He uhm," Tubbo's eyes fell, and he shifted on his feet. "We don't really know much, just that he escaped." 

"Fucking of course he did," he frowned, and looked toward the podium, where the execution block still stood. "We still have Philza. Technoblade will be back for him." 

Tubbo nodded softly. "Phil's not very compliant, though." 

"So force him to kneel you fucking idiot." Schlatt muttered over his shoulder. Quackity narrowed his eyes and tried not to react. 

"Did you restrain his wings?" 

Tubbo shook his head, "I don't know if I can." 

"He's a dangerous criminal Tubbo. You can't have sympathy for him or he'll stab you in the back." Quackity glowered. "Lets do it now." 

"Right, okay," Tubbo's voice shook, but he nodded resolutely. "I'll get Ranboo and Fundy." 

Quackity nodded, and leaned back against the wall of his house as Tubbo hurried off into the distance. He huffed out a breath, closed his eyes, and pinched the bridge of his nose. 

"You've got that kid wrapped around your fucking finger," Schlatt noted, and Quackity frowned. 

"He doesn't know how to lead, I'm just helping him go in the right direction." 

Schlatt laughed, long and loud. "Glatt. Don't lie to me Quackity, you're the one with all the control over this country this time." 

Quackity ignored just how terrible that thought made him feel. 

"Uhm, excuse me?" Opening his eyes, Quackity found Ghostbur hovering in front of him, a look of curious sympathy on his face. 

"Yeah, whats up?" 

"Do you uhm-" Ghostbur's eyes flickered over to where he knew Schlatt was standing, and then back to Quackity. "Here. Have some blue." 

Quackity blinked in surprise, but quietly accepted the blue. He still had no idea what it was or where Ghostbur got it, but he would accept it all the same. 

The ghost smiled, and floated away again in a cheerful spiral.

As much as Quackity would rather just stand there and enjoy relative silence for a little while, he had work to do, and Tubbo soon returned with Fundy and Ranboo at his sides. 

"I'm gonna cook that pig for what he did to you," Fundy growled, forgoing all greeting. "Mark my words." 

Ranboo adjusted his black and white face mask, and ducked his head, his tall and lanky form shrinking in on itself. "So uh, what's the plan exactly?" 

"We restrain Philza. He needs to understand that no one in our fucking country can just go hang out with and protect our enemies. He needs to remember he's a citizen of Manburg."

Ranboo looked uncomfortable, shifting on his feet, but he didn't speak up. 

Schlatt however, never missed a chance to point out the obvious. "He's not loyal at all, and he'd let Philza out in a second. Why do you keep him around? Who even is this guy?" 

Quackity opened his mouth slightly to respond, but then clamped it shut again, remembering no one else could see or hear the poltergeist leaning over his shoulder. 

"Right," Tubbo was saying. "So we plan to restrain his wings." 

Ranboo flinched back in shock, and Fundy's ears flattened sharply with frustration. 

"Inhuman shit," Schlatt filled in oddly helpfully. "No matter what kind of hybrid you are, repressing or holding down the animalistic part of you goes against all natural instinct, Glatt. It’s cruel as fuck, and that’s why it works." 

Quackity looked to Tubbo, who had only reacted to the other inhumans’ responses with confusion and a tilt of the head. But they were all different. As far as Quackity knew, Fundy had been half fox his whole life, and Ranboo was hardly human at all, but Tubbo's hybrid traits had only started to grow in recently. 

He filed that information away without even thinking twice. 

"Are you sure restraining his wings is the best option?" Ranboo tried, and Quackity frowned, ready to put his foot down. 

But it was Fundy who spoke, voice low and full of fire. "Yeah. If I know my grandpa, it's the only way he'll ever stop fighting for Technoblade." 

Seeing the look of resolute and forceful anger in Fundy's eyes, Quackity was reminded of when they'd first stormed Philza's home, searching through his things and interrogating him endlessly, until Tubbo let out a prideful cry, and held up the small, shimmering compass. 

Quackity had been crowing with victory and bubbling with conviction and adrenaline at the time, but he hadn't missed the way Phil reached over and over to Fundy, in a hopeless slide from asking him questions and desperately hoping for an explanation to throwing his own grandson his dirtiest glares and harshest words. 

Fundy had shrunk, his composure breaking fast. 

_"You are fucking dead to me."_

A few simple words, spoken in anger, and yet for Fundy they meant everything. Quackity had watched him shatter, had watched him try and laugh it off and play up his confidence, but without validation from someone he looked up to, Fundy always seemed empty. 

Quackity shrugged off the memory and nodded, wrapping a thick iron chain with two cuffs at the ends like a lasso at his hip. "Then let's go."

As the butcher army made their way over to Philza's house, Quackity found himself unable to hold still. He bounced back and forth on the edges of his feet, mind filled with half thoughts that flitted in and out again in a chaotic spiral. His adrenaline spiked, along with the fear of Schlatt behind him and what he would think of this. Was he doing it right? Quackity shoved those questions aside, knowing that the ghost would just tell him what he thought anyway, so why bother wondering about it. 

As they approached Phil's door, Ghostbur floated up next to them, a curious tilt to his expression. None of them explained anything, but none of them pushed him away either, so the ghost in yellow fell into place behind them as Quackity and the butchers made their way up to the front door. 

Quackity took a breath, and then stepped forward confidently, rapping his knuckles twice on the door. 

Philza opened the door with a sigh. "Friend is still fine Gh-" he cut himself off and met their eyes with hostility. "Get the fuck off my property. You got what you wanted, now leave me alone." 

Quackity laughed incredulously. "Got what we wanted? Oh that's rich. As you may have noticed Philza, Technoblade is not fucking dead." 

"You committed an act of treason gr- Phil." Fundy said, stubbornly correcting himself. Quackity watched the way Phil's eyes widened fractionally in guilt. "You have to pay the consequences for that." 

"You put me under house arrest," Philza pointed out, arms crossed and face unimpressed. 

"Phil, we need you to prove you'll be loyal to L'Manberg," Tubbo explained. "You don't recognize this place as your home, but that's what it is. It’s just a precaution Phil, but you need to understand your loyalties." 

Philza looked hesitant, and turned his head to the side, eyebrows furrowed slightly. "What are you suggesting?" 

"We're going to restrain your wings Philza," Quackity spoke, and reached for stability in his feet on the ground. "We're going to restrain your wings until you remember what fucking country you live in." 

Phil's eyes had darkened now, the brim of his hat casting a dark shadow across his expression. His wings bristled slightly, feathers fluttering in threat. "Over my dead body." 

"That can be arranged," Quackity snarled back with a glare. "Ranboo, Fundy, hold him." 

Practically before he'd even finished speaking, Phil's wings were flared out wide, as much as the room would allow, and his sword was drawn from his belt. To his left, Quackity saw Fundy brandishing his own axe, but on his right Ranboo stood frozen in terror. 

Phil spun, and swung sharp and hard at Quackity's chest, but the blade connected the front of Fundy's axe with a clang. 

Quackity ducked and dodged, stepping swiftly back toward a more open section of the house, and watched them fight. Philza's face was one of resolved blankness: he was clearly lashing out to protect himself, and was set in his idea that this was some evil he must cut down and vanquish. Fundy, on the other hand, had a face full of emotion, rage and desperation mixing in his eyes and present in his swings, which were quickly moving from disarming to wounding intent. 

"Enderboy could sneak in a strike if he had any confidence. Glatt." Schlatt mumbled in discontent beside him, and Quackity frowned. 

He'd noticed the same thing, of course, the way Ranboo shifted on his feet in hesitance, moving one hand up to adjust his mask as he searched for the right course of action. Quackity coughed slightly and gained his attention, and began to glare at him in instruction, inclining his head towards the fight. Ranboo's eyes widened, but he seemed unable to move, eyes locked with Quackity's in mounting terror as he began to shudder and his eyebrows knitted together in frustration and fear. Quackity was drowning in them, and he couldn't look away. 

"Phil!" Tubbo's shout snapped some invisible string between them, and Quackity blinked hard before shaking his head and looking away to where Tubbo stood. 

To where Tubbo stood, holding his blade to the cheerful yellow-sweatered ghost in the doorway. "Stand down." 

Philza had frozen, and was staring at Tubbo and Ghostbur with a mix of betrayal and anguish. Quackity, on the other hand, was amazed. Tubbo didn't even like weapons in Manburg. Quackity had certainly never expected him to take a hostage as a threat. 

But no weapons had been Wilbur's law, hadn't it? 

Regardless, Philza was making the slow and obvious movement of sliding his sword back into its sheath and lowering his wings -though they remained extended- his head bowed in resignation. 

Tubbo lowered his blade, and muttered something to Ghostbur, who nodded cheerfully and floated outside, the door clicking softly shut behind him. 

Fundy, on the other hand, still gripped his axe tight, a tense set to his gaze. 

"Your failure to comply with instruction will result in your weapon being taken away as well," Tubbo said, voice low and soft as though he were worried he might betray some emotion if he spoke any louder. "Ranboo, please take his sword, and Quackity, you may restrain him." 

"Hm," Schlatt noted in a huff, and Quackity threw a side glance to find his eyebrows raised and a look of slight pride on his face. "Guess there were some reasons the kid was my right hand man." 

Quackity frowned, and tried to ignore the crawling sensation that went down his spine when the one thing that made Schlatt proud of his son was Tubbo becoming more like him.

Quackity crossed the room, grabbing the iron chains from his belt and slowly unraveling them until he stood in front of Philza, who's composed anger was starting to crack. It was only there for a moment, and when he blinked it was gone again, but Quackity saw fear in the winged man's eyes as he stared down at that which would soon restrain him. 

Quackity felt nothing but satisfaction. Satisfaction that a man who helped, supported and even trained Technoblade would soon be under his control. Not the powerful Angel of Death anymore, were you Philza? Quackity was in control. 

He should be afraid. 

Next to him, Ranboo stepped forward, his head ducked and shoulders hunched, and held out a clawed hand. "Please give me your sword. Please." 

It was spoken in the least convincing, most desperate voice Quackity had ever heard, and yet Phil, eyes hidden under the shadows of his hat, unsheathed the sword and handed it over without hesitation. 

"Thank you," Ranboo muttered, "I'm sorry." 

Schlatt scoffed out a brief "Glatt" that sounded almost amused with Ranboo's anxiety, and Quackity's frown simply deepened as he stepped forward.

"Close your wings." Quackity instructed, and Philza complied with a frown, anger present in the slow and dangerous way he pulled up his wings, closing them softly to where the held just above his shoulders. Quackity moved with silent determination, looping the iron chains first around one wing, then crossing to the other, the twilight black feathers fraying in protest to the strain. 

"Hold out your hands." 

Philza complied, his face a blank mask. Quackity took the two ends of the chain and fastened the metal cuffs to his wrists, clicking them shut with a soft echo, locking Phil's wings shut and chaining them to his wrists so that the avian was finally, truly, under their power. 

Quackity stepped back, and caught the expression on Philza's face, even as he ducked his head down to hide his weakness from them. He looked ill, nauseous with a swirling mix of regret, anger and terror, buried somewhere deep within as he tried to hold his composure. 

Quackity was triumphant. He'd made the angel kneel.

**Author's Note:**

> title is from sex with a ghost by teddy hyde 
> 
> all comments and kudos greatly appreciated, I will reply to as much as I can!


End file.
